The X-men run missions and work together with the NYPD, striving to maintain a peaceful balance between humans and mutants. When it comes to a fight, they won't back down from protecting those who need their help.
Haven presents itself as a humanitarian organization for activists, leaders, and high society, yet mutants are the secret leaders working to protect and serve their kind. Behind the scenes they bring their goals into reality.
From the time when mutants became known to the world, SUPER was founded as a black-ops division of the CIA in an attempt to classify, observe, and learn more about this new and rising threat.
The Syndicate works to help bring mutantkind to the forefront of the world. They work from the shadows, a beacon of hope for mutants, but a bane to mankind. With their guiding hand, humanity will finally find extinction.
Since the existence of mutants was first revealed in the nineties, the world has become a changed place. Whether they're genetic misfits or the next stage in humanity's evolution, there's no denying their growing numbers, especially in hubs like New York City. The NYPD has a division devoted to mutant related crimes. Super-powered vigilantes help to maintain the peace. Those who style themselves as Homo Superior work to tear society apart for rebuilding in their own image.
MRO is an intermediate to advanced writing level original character, original plot X-Men RPG. We've been open and active since October of 2005. You can play as a mutant, human, or Adapted— one of the rare humans who nullify mutant powers by their very existence. Goodies, baddies, and neutrals are all welcome.
Short Term Plots:Are They Coming for You?
There have been whispers on the streets lately of a boogeyman... mutant and humans, young and old, all have been targets of trafficking.
The Fountain of Youth
A chemical serum has been released that's shaving a few years off of the population. In some cases, found to be temporary, and in others...?
MRO MOVES WITH CURRENT TIME: What month and year it is now in real life, it's the same for MRO, too.
Fuegogrande: "Fuegogrande" player of The Ranger, Ion, Rhia, and Null
Neopolitan: "Aly" player of Rebecca Grey, Stephanie Graves, Marisol Cervantes, Vanessa Bookman, Chrysanthemum Van Hart, Sabine Sang, Eupraxia
Ongoing Plots
Magic and Mystics
After the events of the 2020 Harvest Moon and the following Winter Solstice, magic has started manifesting in the MROvere! With the efforts of the Welldrinker Cult, people are being converted into Mystics, a species of people genetically disposed to be great conduits for magical energy.
The Pharoah Dynasty
An ancient sorceress is on a quest to bring her long-lost warrior-king to the modern era in a bid for global domination. Can the heroes of the modern world stop her before all is lost?
Are They Coming for You?
There have been whispers on the streets lately of a boogeyman... mutant and humans, young and old, all have been targets of trafficking.
Adapteds
What if the human race began to adapt to the mutant threat? What if the human race changed ever so subtly... without the x-gene.
Atlanteans
The lost city of Atlantis has been found! Refugees from this undersea mutant dystopia have started to filter in to New York as citizens and businessfolk. You may make one as a player character of run into one on the street.
Got a plot in mind?
MRO plots are player-created the Mods facilitate and organize the big ones, but we get the ideas from you. Do you have a plot in mind, and want to know whether it needs Mod approval? Check out our plot guidelines.
A follow up to this thread. Therefore takes place around end of September, beginning of October.
The owner of the lumber shop was not surprised when the prawn ducked through the door. A greeting of, “Hey! It’s been a while. Got another project?”
Jack gave a quiet huff, her massive hand reaching for the parcel that was tucked beneath her arm as she crossed the front of the store to the desk where the owner sat. She laid a glimmering, slightly-singed cut of wood before him, which amounted to the size of a large textbook. The owner was an older, unflappable gent, wide around the waist and face full of bushy grey hair. The sight of the broken, slightly burnt wood was enough to make the man raise his eyebrows.
“What happened here?”
Another huff. Jack fished out her phone and typed hurriedly to the shopkeeper.
<<Got in a fight at a friend’s house. Accidentally broke his table. It’s part of a dining set, so if I can, I’d like to get wood that looks similar.>>
The shopkeeper surveyed the shard while Jack explained herself, giving a low whistle, “Walnut and cherry wood. Sturdy stuff. Hope ya weren’t fightin’ with yer friend.”
Jack flapped a hand dismissively, shaking her head. She quickly typed, <<Naw, a friend of his. Dumb a-- couldn’t hold his liquor and decided to pick a fight with the biggest person at the party…>>
“Boy do I know how that goes,” the shopkeeper laughed, hoisting himself to his feet, “Just yer luck, I’ve got some stuff that’s pretty close. I’ll let ya have a look.”
---
Jack found herself in front of Looking Glass one week later, a fully-constructed table propped-up on one of her massive shoulders. The prawn wished, deep within her soul, that she’d mutated into something smaller, and less of a neon eyesore. Who knew what sort of welcome awaited her within the bar? If she was smaller, she could sneak in, drop the table off, scour the establishment for her ID and sneak-off before anyone was the wiser.
Yeah, about that ID—she had opened a tab when she came in with Victor, expecting a night of drinking and relaxation—when that night was unexpectedly and rudely brought to an end, Jack had retrieved her things, but had not closed her tab. Thus the owner(s?) had her ID. Judging by the fact that the men in blue hadn’t paid the prawn a visit, Jack suspected that the ID was still there. At least, that was what she’d hoped. She would leave the table, get her ID, close her tab, and be more-than-happy to never show her face again at the Looking Glass.
That was the plan, anyway.
Jack brought the table down, balancing it in her two, massive primary hands before waddling to the entrance. They should have been open for the lunch hours. Using the table, she gently nudged the doors open, and waddled inside.
Once inside, she let the door swing shut behind her, and set the table down.
“Need to talk to duh owner,” she said flatly. The bartender paled, her expression one of contained panic, as she scrambled for the nearby phone, “No trou’le. Want no trou’le.”
Judging by her expression, the bartender at least knew of Jack. The prawn remained rooted near the door, less her welcome was less than warm. The few patrons that were there murmured amongst themselves, sensing the bartender’s panic, but uncertain of the prawn’s identity. Jack huffed, certain that the owner would be with them shortly.
The corners of Jacks' eyes pinched in a smile as the kid replaced his bowl on the counter. She remembered when she first enrolled at the mutant school in San Francisco-- when she first tried to reintegrate into civilized society. She had to relearn everything-- speaking, eating politely, how to occupy public spaces. This kid was at the very beginning of all that. It wouldn't be easy. But--
"You'll sss-igure sss-ings out," Jack assured him. She remained propped-up against the counter, inclining her head at him.
"Wanna walk wiss nee?" Jack offered, "Technically it's as-ter cur-sew, 'ut iss it looks like I'n walkin' wiss you, is all good."
It'd be nice to have company. Maybe he'd want to talk more, maybe he'd want to go to bed. Jack was ambivalent either way. But she figured she'd extend the offer to him.
Posted by "Chief" on Mar 8, 2016 0:01:58 GMT -6
Ghost likes this
Beta Mutant
darkturquoise
lesbian with exceptions
it's complicated
502
113
Apr 25, 2024 23:17:11 GMT -6
Sophy
*slams hand on table* I WANT CHIEF/RANDY THREADS. I'm still a wee bit absorbed in real life obligations but my schedule should be opening up soon (I hope x ~ x) and yuh. We've been talking about Chief/Randy plotsies for a while now and I'M SO F--KING GAME YOU HAVE NO IDEA. Sorry for the caps. I just spontaneously checked-in on the site and I'm really excited that you posted this thread. :3c
The cold air hit, a harsh wave of realization against the prawn's carapace. Jack shivered, from her feet to the tips of her antennaes. Sh-t. What did you get yourself into, Jacky? Jack unfurled her hand, which made a sticky sound as her fingers loosened from the steadily bleeding gash. Needed to take care of that, too. No hospitals. People would be looking for them, they needed to hide. Maybe the park? Parks were big and poorly lit in certain sections, easy to hide-out in.
>> "L-let's go to my place, we should be safe there."
Chirrrrrr. Jack nodded. "Yeah. Hide dere. Oss streets. Good sinking."
A light breeze chased them down the alley as the two departed. It stung the prawn's hand, so she closed her fingers over the wound, wincing. Stupid, stupid, stupid. A closed fist adjusted he singed shard of table beneath her arm.
Another shiver danced up Jack's spine, before the grim realization that she'd forgotten her coat crashed over her. Well, no going back now.
>> "Hrrrrr coooooocnuht whaaaater, in aaahh boooooowl,"
Jack gave an affirmative grunt, fishing the carton of coconut water out of the fridge. She typically brought her own food from home (sensitive palate and all), so it took some rummaging around before she found the dishes. Large, awkward hands pulled the entire stack of bowls out, before taking a single bowl off the top. The coconut water was then poured into the bowl, and left on the counter.
The wolf boy rose, and she offered the bowl to him, before leaning casually against the counter.
"How long has I 'een a nyu-tant?" Jack clarified. She tilted her head back, trying to call, "Long tine--" she did the arithmatic in her head, "Little nore dan ten years." Time was fuzzy around that period. She remembered that she was in junior high. She looked at Ty, her eyes pinching in a smile.
"It gets easier," she assured him, "In sun ways. In uzzers... like... wiss hue-nans... ne'er easier. 'ut you learn how to get around. How to deal wiss what you got."
She drew a circle around her surgical mask with one of her massive hands, "For exan'le... talking. Used to not talk at all. Still can't say sun t'ings right... 'ut I can say nost t'ings a'ight. And I got dis text-to-talk t'ing on my..." she wiggled the phone.
The burst of flames tipped the uproar into an absolutely chaotic flurry of motion. Revelers stumbling out of the line of fire, screaming. Some people hurriedly patting singed clothes. Everyone running to get out of the way, even before the sprinklers kicked-on. The brawlers lost their steam, joining the fray. Jack whirled just as the sprinklers kicked-on, her eyes wide.
Sh--. Sh--, sh--, sh--. This was bad. An unfortunate table didn't get out of the way quickly enough, and now sat smouldering in the chaos.
"Gotta go," Jack announced, touching Victor's arm, "Now."
Before the crowd clears, at least. Once the crowd dissipated, they'd probably get subdued by any/all of the security staff. Jack would bet money that they had an Adapted on the staff, too, and she didn't want to give them the time to show up.
The prawn surged into the crowd, towards the smouldering table. She closed her uninjured hand around an undamaged corner and punched the center of the table, splintering the wood and dislodging a sizeable chunk. It would've been damaged anyways. She'd made note of a back door during an earlier visit to the bathroom, and there were likely to be less people to obstruct their flight from there. Jack ran back towards Victor, tucking the wood under one arm, and grabbing one his arms with her uninjured hand.
"We go," she said decisively, trying to pull him towards the back exit. Should he allow her to, she'd lead him to the door that led them outside, through the rapidly-clearing crowd of clubgoers.
The prawn was eerily still as she listened, offering very little to suggest her train of thought. She'd been in the boy's position, once. Looking for something-- anything-- that'd make her look human again. But what then? It wasn't like she could go home. Besides which, there wasn't a "cure" for what she was.
"Tyson," Jack echoed, mildly humored, "Good nay-n. Can actually say it right."
She wasn't going to have a heart-to-heart with the kid. They'd only just met, after all.
"Has you sound any-sing yet?" Jack inquired, tilting her chin at the boy, "A cure? A lead?"
Jack also wasn't going to do a step-dance on the kids' dreams, though. There was no need to be a d--- to someone who was already having a hard time with their new state of being.
A muscle in the prawn's face twitched, a flex of the mandible underneath her surgical mask.
"An ex'eri-nent," she echoed, her voice flat. It made her stomach burn, but with what, the prawn wasn't sure. She wanted to punch whoever made Tyson, but that was as far as her introspection went. Who the f--- would do such a thing?
The prawn exhaled sharply, getting to her feet. She padded past Tyson to the fridge, popping it open again.
"Wanna soda or sun-sing?" she offered, "Hel' settle your stun-ach."
Soda was too severe for Jack, so she also offered, "Tea... or coconut water. Dere's sun o' dat, too."
Much like Jack didn't want to talk about being chained in the basement of her childhood home, she assumed Tyson didn't want to talk about being an experiment. And even if he did, Jack didn't feel like the right person to handle that touchy subject.
The wolf shook its massive head in response to Jack’s question. Good, he was mellowing out. Jack sat patiently, settling her massive hands atop her knee. Her posture was casual, reserved… welcoming.
>> "F-Fiiiiinnne. Not surrrrrr what he-happened."
Someone else with a speech impediment. That was both a very common occurrence, and not common enough. She let him growl out the words, no change in expression flickering across her face.
>> "h-who arrrrr you?"
“Jacquelyn Dyer,” she clicked matter-of-factly, “E’eryone calls nee ‘Jack’, doh. I work security.”
“You’re a student, yes?” Jack inquired, “What’s ‘r nay-n*?”
Jack had been around long enough to recognize all of the staff by their faces, and know most of their names. (Or, at the very least, she knew the names that she’d assigned to them.) So she knew he wasn’t part of the staff. That left only one (legal) alternative, which was student. Otherwise it was trespassing.
Jack pulled her phone out of her pocket, without turning it on.
“How long has you ‘een a nyu-tant?” she asked conversationally, “Long tine?”
She tried to keep the questions in the yes-or-no range. Besides the obvious “who the heck are you” inquiries. He could answer as simply as a head nod, or speak plainly. Up to him. Jack surveyed him the way one human would survey another. The occasional flicker here or there, but mostly fixating on his eyes.
She itched at her mask. Tonight's outfit was casual but warm-- tan cargo pants, black t-shirt, and a rather cozy looking hoodie. Atop that, a badge that signified she was a staf member, and a walkie talkie, which was clipped to her hip.
Whoever it was snapped their attention in her direction, snarling inhumanly and fur bristling. Canid of some sort. Instinctually, Jack returned the hostility with a low yowl, fringed by a cautionary hiss. The muscles in her body coiling to spring. Her pupils constricted, eyes darting all over the lupine individual and around the kitchen. She wasn’t going to hurt him—but if he pulled anything stupid, she’d have to at least slow him down.
The meat hanging from the wolf’s mouth dropped with a hollow thwock, the fight leaving the lupine’s eyes. A rising sickness overcame them—Jack knew the look well. She worked at a nightclub, after all. Brawlers with bad attitudes and too much liquor in their system, suddenly getting bested by Jagermeister or whatever other s**t they’d decided to marinate themselves in that evening. A hand fluttered to the lupine’s mouth, and he ran to the sink, regurgitating the meat he’d just scarfed down.
“S**t,” Jack groaned. At least he’d made it to the sink. Of all the tasks Jack was glad not to fill at club, janitorial duties was one of them. Though she’d seen her fair share of puking and was mostly desensitized to it, the acrid scent of bile made the filaments on her antennae prickle in an unpleasant way.
The prawn crossed the threshold into the kitchen, but still kept her distance. Puking transitioned to frenzied scrubbing as the kid rinsed himself down, and once satisfied with the spontaneous shower, he sank to the floor, defeated.
Jack said very little, at first. She made her moves slow and deliberate—crossing the kitchen, towards the wolf on the floor. She knew the look in his eyes well—or, at least, she thought she did.
“Can I sit wit’ you?” the prawn asked, once she was about three feet from him.
Whether he said yes or no, Jack didn’t wait for the answer. She began to sit, regardless, crossing her legs casually.
“Sorry sore startling you,” she murmured, her voice still lulling despite its gravelly edge, “Do you… need to go duh in-sir-mary*?” Jack had to be sure that there wasn’t anything else at play.
Jack wasn’t usually one of the overnight people—she typically worked security during the daytime, when students were actually awake. But one of the other security personnel called-in sick, and Jack had few enough hours (and a flexible enough schedule) that they gave her a call.
“Available to come in and cover a shift? Tom’s out with the flu.”
Conveniently enough, it was one of the few nights that Jack didn’t have a shift at Chrysalis.
“Sure,” the prawn agreed.
She now found herself padding her way down the halls, humming to herself. Of course they had her walking around, making sure everything was secure. At least she wasn’t on the perimeter, where it was colder than cold. Heh, the boss probably thought she was cold-blooded. Jack chirred to herself, her hands wedged into her pockets.
It was too quiet at night. Boring, even. It was more fun when the students were up and about. It was more fun when the halls were filled with peals of laughter and the smaller students were tugging at Jacks’ arms, begging for her to play a game with them. She considered it part of her job—be nice to the kids, make them feel safe. She was part of security, after all. She deigned to admit that she enjoyed their company thoroughly.
She even enjoyed the company of some of the older, surly ones. Mostly because she saw herself in them. Or the troublemakers, for the same reason.
She made her way towards the hall off of which the kitchen sat, antennae twitching. She heard the sloppy, slurping sounds of someone eating a midnight snack. Not too uncommon. There were a few nocturnal ones. Might as well make herself known, lest she scare them.
Jack poked her head through the doorway, spying a huge ball of fluff bent over in front of the fridge.
“E’ening,” she greeted casually, the low timbre of her voice swinging across the kitchen towards the fluffy one in-question. She hadn’t seen him around before. Probably new.
And that was all that she said, as she lingered in the doorway. She understood the priority of eating first, speaking later, just as she understood the appeal of a raw red steak. Her mandibles ground beneath the surgical mask, an involuntary reaction to the scent of food. She’d go on lunchbreak soon, spare someone the disappointment of finding their food gone from the fridge.
It was a run of the mill walk of the halls-- really, that was what this job was. Glorified hall-monitoring. At least she hadn't gotten stuck with walking the perimeter-- it was overcast when Jack had gotten of the bus this morning, and she would've hated to get caught in the rain.
"'eeeeyyy, Jacky!" a little frog-looking boy greeted, holding up a fist. Jack gave his fist a light bump in return, smiling. The kids here were lovely. A churlish shapeshifter lingered behind him, his jaw twitching. He was a shy one.
"What'chu u' to, kid?" she greeted.
"Chase and me are gonna go play some basketball-" the Chase in-question nodded his head, confirming this announcement, "-wanna join? We could do three-flies up!"
"I got inside duty today," Jack sighed, feigning disappointment, "May'e you can get one uzz duh yard duties to join?"
"Aaawww, fine~" the frog-boy sighed, "But you owe us!"
"Dess-initely."
She waved and continued down the hall, venturing towards the girls' wing of the residential hall. The air changed noticeably-- from pubescent boy stink to the flowery scent of a half-dozen different types of body sprays. Raucous shouts became the occasional squeal or titter. Some doors were open, others were closed. Jack padded along, her hands tucked into her pockets.
It was a rather quiet day. A rather slow one.
A clatter jarred Jack from her thoughts, a few chess pieces bouncing into the hall before rolling to a stop. Woops, head's up. Jack leaned over, pinching the stragglers with one hand and depositing them into her other. A rather... yellow... individual was retrieving the pieces that'd had fallen in the room itself.
Looking a little shaken as they knelt amongst a few boxes. A new kid.
"Errysing okay in dere?" Jack inquired gently, lingering just outside the door. She tapped her badge with her free primary hand, "I'n Jacquelyn. One o' duh security 'ersonel. I just go 'y Jack."
Jack shook her head animatedly, an anxious whirr in her throat. Victor was squaring-up, shifting to the offensive. It made the prawn feel small. Logically, she'd done nothing wrong. They could just call the paramedics, get the man taken care of, she could go home... unless they sued...
>> "Oye cabrón, back off! She didn't do anything wrong!"
Steam rolled through Victor's exposed teeth.
"Victor, no..." Jack pleaded, sensing his agitation. It didn't matter that it was an accident. Not to them. They were already rearing for a fight, she could see it in the way they carried themselves. Fidgetty hands, one of which was clasped around a knife-- sneers-- where the f*** were the security personnel in this club? Jack's hold on Victor's arm slackened, her gaze swimming around the room.
Prompted by the prawn's forward motion, the knife-wielding man lunged forward-- instinct took hold. Jack saw the knife and moved to disarm him, but the alcohol in her system made her clumsy. Her massive hand knocked his arm without dislodging the knife. Eyes locked. F***. Momentum in his favor, he swung the blade at her. Cool metal sliced the leathery flesh of her hand.
An entirely knew instinct took hold. Her uninjured primary hand curled into a fist and connected with the man's stomach.
He dropped like a sack of flour, coughing.
The floor had descended into chaos. She'd never been in a brawl like this before. From Jack's perspective (and perhaps Victor's) she had disarmed a man, but from others, it likely seemed as though Jack had just attacked a human man. Whatever the case, it was a frenzy of motion. People getting out of the way of the commotion, people trying to get into the brawl.
The anxious whirr that had been resting at the back of Jack's throat, had now climbed to a terrified pitch. She sounded like a cornered cat, yowling and hissing. She kept the injured hand close to her chest, and stepped behind Victor. Not to hide, but to cover him. No one could attack from behind if you were back-to-back.
Was this what zombie apocalypses were like? Mindlessly grabbing arms, trying to do harm, trying to separate, trying to... something?? Regardless if it were a hand outstretched in an attempt to help or trying to snare Jack, the prawn deflected it wih her uninjured palm open. The first punch had been reflexive. She didn't want to break any more arms tonight.
Besides, her arms were long enough that, a simple openhanded slap could be dealt before their assailants could reach her.
Accumulated tension in Jacks' shoulders released when the fellow mutant admitted to being a marine biologist. Sure, Caleb was also a mutant, but there was a certain level of discomfort when it came to dealin with medical doctors, for Jack. Scholarly intrigue grew tiresome after a while.
"Doctor does has sun 'restige," Jack agreed.
>> "The more I think about it, though, 'Dr. Manfish' has sort of a villainous air to it, doesn't it?"
Jack exhaled sharply, a humored "psssshhh" escaping her. She hurriedly shook her head. How someone could construe a little piscine fellow as a villain was beyond Jack. He seemed like a colossal nerd. A nice guy. Not a cloak-swooshing "mwu-ha-ha" villain. The kind of guy who'd sit down with a random woman at a coffee shop for some good company.
>> "So, what do you do? If you don't mind me asking."
"Security," Jack answered, taking a sip of tea, "At Xa'iers. Also a, uh-" Jack unlocked her phone, and quickly typed the word "bouncer", flashing it to Caleb, "-at a nightclu'."
Jack typed another message, without pressing the button for audio. The din of the coffeeshop would've made it hard to hear, <<I've been thinking about leaving the bouncer position if Xavier's hires me on permanently.>>
Once Jack had typed the first message, and allowed Caleb to finish reading, she typed another, << I didn't think I'd like working with kids as much as I have. They're funny little people.>>
Then again, everyone was little, compared to Jack. Except Victor. He was not the least bit little.
Posted by "Chief" on Jan 8, 2016 19:30:01 GMT -6
Zinnia likes this
Beta Mutant
darkturquoise
lesbian with exceptions
it's complicated
502
113
Apr 25, 2024 23:17:11 GMT -6
Sophy
Oh there's just no way--
>> “Did you get the passenger seat fixed?”
No way...
>> “No, but there’s plenty of room in the ba-“
Nooo...
Zinnia's father glanced at the prawn. Jack's antennae lifted at the attention, her expression politely concerned.
>> “Oh. Well, it’ll be a mite squashy, but you’ll manage.”
Oh, you've got to be f--king kidding me.
Jack ran a massive hand over her antennae, the flat of her hands scraping against the carapace of her skull. Sure, she'd manage, but Zinnia would probably die of puncture wounds. The prawn breathed a concerned rumble, but nodded to the other young woman.
"I'll go first."
The prawn was not the least bit eager about getting into the car. Her main rationale was that, if she clambered in first, the likelihood of accidental impalements was far lesser.
After Zinnia's father unlocked the doors and slid said out-of-commission seat out of the way, Jack ducked in through the tiny doorway, the beetle-bug groaning in protest under her weight. In fact, it groaned the whole time, as Jack crossed to the other side, and wedged herself in the corner, looking supremely uncomfortable yet not uttering a single complaint. She tried to make herself as small as possible, yet still she occupied more than half of the back seat. It couldn't be helped that she was such a massive woman.
Jack's face was likewise radiant with heat as Zinnia wriggled herself into the seat beside her. The prawn began with her arms folded in front of her, assuming that this would be the most space-effective way to sit. But, as the car sputtered to life and began rattling its way down the road, it grew more and more difficult to hold that position.
The prawn shifted her weight a bit, unfolding the primary arm closest to Zinnia, and draped it over the back of the seat. There wasn't really anywhere else to put it.
"Sorry," was the bashful and soft-spoken rumble, "Got shoulders like a soot-doll 'layer."
Jack felt sort of breathless, but she attributed the feeling to her conscientiousness-- breathe less, take up less room when your lungs expand, right? It had absolutely nothing to do with the smaller mutant beside you, riiiight?
